


The salt on your skin, the stars in my eyes

by janescott



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis and rimming. ... That's it, that's the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The salt on your skin, the stars in my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because of this gifset: http://nestingstars.tumblr.com/post/51805442349/sinisterlava-do-he-got-da-booty-he and because I've lost control of myself.
> 
> Also I believe that someone should always be up for rimming dat ass.
> 
> Beta'd by magenta :-)
> 
> None of this belongs to me, etc.

Louis spreads his arms and legs out as far as they’ll go; lazily starfishing across the bed. He hears a snort from the bathroom and turns his head, blinking and grinning.

Harry’s leaning against the door, naked from the shower and still slightly damp. Louis lets his eyes trail a drop of water snaking its way down Harry’s neck, to the bird tattoo below his collarbone, the water magnifying the ink slightly.

“See something you like, sailor?” Louis says, his voice slightly husky from the show the night before - and from swallowing Harry’s cock almost straight after in the venue’s loos - not one of Louis’s smarter decisions, maybe, because his throat hurts today, but fuck it. 

The look on Harry’s face had been worth it, and now it’s a day off. Harry will pet his hair and bring him tea all day if Louis pouts at him just right. Even if he doesn’t, come to think of it.

Harry grins, wide and happy, ducking his head to push back his hair as he looks at Louis from under his eyelashes.

“Maybe,” he says, shrugging, and Louis thinks Harry would be able to feign indifference better if his face wasn’t flushing down to his neck and his cock weren’t half-hard.

Louis just snorts and wriggles against the sheets, pushing his hands under the pillow and rolling his hips down slightly, which draws Harry’s eyes to the curve of his back and his arse.

“Day off,” Louis says, rolling his hips again, biting his lip at the friction of the sheets against his own cock, filling at the sight of Harry staring at him.

“Mmmhm...” Is all Harry says, before he pushes off the door, and comes over to kneel on the bed, shifting until he’s covering Louis, pushing his own hands under the pillows to wind their fingers together before planting a kiss at the base of Louis’s neck.

“D’you want to ah … go out? See if the others want to do something? We could - ah!” 

Louis bucks up suddenly when Harry bites at his shoulder blade, nipping it hard and sucking the skin into his mouth until Louis is sure it’s going to leave a mark.

“Jesus, Harry.” 

“Don’t want to go out, no.” Harry’s voice is always low, but now it feels like a rumble of distant thunder, right against Louis’s skin and he can’t suppress a shiver.

“Thought we could stay in, actually,” Harry murmurs then, right against the top of Louis’s spine and he groans, low and soft even as his hips rut helplessly down against the soft mattress.

“And what - what did you have in mind, young Harry? Staying inside on such a beautiful sunny day?” Louis is proud of the fact his voice only wavers a little as Harry keeps pressing small, warm kisses down his back. 

He stops right at the curve - right above Louis’s arse - and says “If you shut up, Louis, I’ll show you.”

Louis bites down on the retort that makes no sense because he can’t _see_ what Harry’s doing, because Harry is now planting those same kisses over the swell of his arse cheeks, a random pattern of warmth and wetness as he flicks out his tongue occasionally and now Louis lets out a loud groan because Harry is a fucking _tease_.

His intent is clear, though, and Louis does his best to subside into the mattress; to let its softness take him down until he does feel like he’s floating.

He still jumps a little at the first press of Harry’s tongue against his hole. He clutches the mattress hard with both hands and manages to grit out “Harry - “ before Harry presses another kiss to his heated skin, then pushes slowly into Louis’s hole with his tongue; nothing more than tiny, teasing kitten-licks that drive Louis insane and make sweat pop out on his forehead and trickle down the back of his neck.

“Love your arse, Lou, fuck, I could do this all day …” Harry pulls back long enough to rumble against the curve of Louis’s lower back and Louis has to snake a hand between his body and the bed so he can grasp the base of his cock because if Harry keeps talking into his skin like that, he’s going to come everywhere far too soon.

“Love the taste of you, fucking love it; love the way you look in those fucking - j-jeans _god_ ”

Louis can feel his brain shorting; electricity sparking along his spine, going _everywhere_ as Harry plunges his tongue back in; pushing in as far as he can; no polite teasing now; and Louis all but screams as his hips buck back up off the bed. 

He spreads his legs and pushes back, shamelessly fucking himself on to Harry’s wicked tongue. He can feel the stretch of it inside him, the outline of Harry’s mouth on him and suddenly something else - the press of two of Harry’s fingers and he’s fucking _gone_.

He pumps his cock, tight and desperate; he’s so fucking hard it hurts and rocks back and back again on to Harry’s tongue until he spills all over his fist and the sheets.

Groaning, Louis drags himself forward enough that he can roll on to his back away from the wet patch on the sheets. Harry’s sitting back on his heels, wiping his mouth while his other hand works his cock over.

“C’mon. Up here. Want to taste you, want you to come on my face _Harry_.”

Louis is exhausted; rambling and desperate as Harry pushes himself up the bed far enough to do what Louis asks. And Louis is _useless_ ; all he can do is reach out one weak hand and trace over the definition of Harry’s arm muscles and lick his lips in anticipation, but that seems to be enough because then Harry’s coming and it’s hitting him right in the mouth and chin and all Louis has to do is flick out his tongue, tasting it as he keeps his eyes on Harry’s face - on his swollen, red mouth and his eyes; gone a deep, dark green.

Harry collapses on the bed beside him, his chest heaving.

“Fuck,” he says weakly, turning his head and smiling. His hair is a mess of curls and his face and neck have a sheen of sweat that Louis wants to taste; wants the weight of salt on his tongue, so he reaches out a hand and tugs at Harry’s arm until Harry rolls over, settling himself astride Louis’s hips.

“C’mere,” Louis says, his voice sounding wrecked and raspy. Harry just smiles again and ducks his head to lick at stray drops of his own come, spattered on Louis’s neck, Louis reaches up and sinks a hand into Harry’s riotous, messy hair, tugging at it until Harry gives in and leans down far enough for a long, filthy kiss that leaves Louis panting.

He gets his mouth on Harry’s neck, licking along the long column of it slowly, tasting the salt of Harry’s sweat and the warm undertones of Harry’s skin. He bites down lightly on the most prominent vein, making Harry let out a small groan.

They’re both filthy now; covered in sweat and come, but Louis can’t care; when he’s got both hands fisted in Harry’s curls, and Harry’s lazily grinding his hips down against him, murmuring low nonsense against his mouth and into his neck.

The sun is a warm stripe across the room, and across the messy sheets of the bed; and here’s Harry, sucking a mark into Louis’s shoulder, and he’s just as warm; and just as constant, and all Louis can do is roll his hips up to meet Harry’s rhythm, and for now - and probably for always, Louis thinks - it’s enough.


End file.
